


Too Deep, Please Stop Thinking.

by HeavyDirtyBlurryface



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Song Inspired, Song Lyrics, Team Fortress 2 - Freeform, deep thoughts, twenty one pilots - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeavyDirtyBlurryface/pseuds/HeavyDirtyBlurryface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no sound to melt into. Nothing to end the torment. To bring peace to the neverending battle in the Scout's mind. Quiet is violent.</p><p>**Based on Car Radio by Twenty One Pilots**<br/>>> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=92XVwY54h5k</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Deep, Please Stop Thinking.

Shaky breaths, and trembling hands. Huddled into a ball in a dusty corner, trying to be small and nonexistant.  
Scout liked to think that after this whole RED vs BLU mess, he could do something with himself. Maybe join in the Major League, or support his Ma back at home. Trying to focus on his thoughts, yet, instead focused on his breathing. The Bostonian could hear nothing other than his own inhaling and exhaling. Breathing. Breath. He was alive. But was this really what he wanted? Time was running out. Scout had achieved nothing in his life other than murder and disappointing Ma. Maybe death wasn't such a bad idea. There'd be much less room for disappointment that way. His thoughts were racing. Though, this did happen often- given the silence of the room, it always came as a discomfort. Maybe he ought to buy a radio. Sitting in silence, like he was now, was depressing.  


Sometimes, Scout found it hard to hide how much silence could effect him. Only an hour after staying in the damned room would leave him moping around the base, stressed and seemingly depressed. The quiet was violent.  


Sitting in the corner, sweating, blood pumping out of small cuts that the Medic couldn't heal. His skin screamed, reminding him of who he killed inside his dreams. Himself. The Scout. In the dream of being successful. Dreaming of having a humane job with a nice family and money to help Ma deal with his seven older siblings. Yeah, that sounded nice. Too bad he fucked it up.  


The mercenary hated this room. He hated the silence, the emptiness, the thoughts that forced their way into his head even when he fought so hard to keep them out. The room forced Scout to deal with what he actually felt. There was no sound. No distraction to mask what was real. There was a gun over there; he could end it all. He could pull the steering wheel.  


Scout pondered of something terrifying, because there was no sound to hide behind. What if Ma got hurt, and he wasn't there? What if he died on the battlefield and Respawn broke? What if Medic couldn't heal him? What if he was forced into this way of life forever? What if he never got a family? What if the team broke up? What if BLU won the war?  


He thought of how the other guys got scared. Did they even get scared? Maybe Demo was afraid of losing another eye, and Hardhat was afraid he'd run out of blueprints for building designs. Heavy might've been afraid of losing his family back in Siberia, and Sniper thought he'd lose his professionalism. Medic, that he'd fail an operation, and Pyro, that the world would go dark. Spy was a mystery. The Frenchman never seemed to fear anything- or anyone, in that matter. Maybe he was afraid he'd lose his mysterious aura, and be unable to be a master of stealth. Everyone battled fear.  


Why were he and the guys here? Why did they need to fight an endless battle for territory, or briefcases? Why push the cart? Why was he even on the team? Why did he take the job? Why did Scout exist in general? What was his actual purpose? To kill? To be a failure?  


_Too deep, please stop thinking.  
_

To be honest, Scout liked it better in a room with sound.

There were things that he could do, but from the things that worked, there were only two. From the two that he could choose to do, peace would win, and fear would lose. If the runner could pick something, he'd pick it to be peaceful, without fear being an option. Why was that an option. Peace should win this mental fight in the young mercenary's head.  


There was faith, and there was sleep. He needed to pick one. Faith was to be awake, and to be awake was for him to think, and for him to think was to be alive. Did he want to be alive? It was a hard decision, but Scout had to come across like he was dying to let himself know he needed to think. Think about the better.  


_Think about the better.  
_

He had close bonds with the eight guys that made up the RED team, a father-like figure to guide him through all of this nonsense, epic bragging rights to taunt his brothers with, a sense of achievement every time he captured a point, sharp skills, quick thinking. He even had Ma to support HIM more than she supported his siblings. Scout was praised for his speed and agility. The ability to bring humor to a dark situation. He was valued. He meant something.  


Yet, still, he pondered of something great. His lungs would fill and then deflate. They'd fill with fire, exhale desire. He knew it was dire, his time today. He had these thoughts so often he ought, to replace that slot, with what he should've bought, 'cause things are better with a radio. But, for now, he'd sit in silence.  


**Author's Note:**

> This was shit I'm so sorry I'm tired and was listening to music.


End file.
